Kenji placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then you have already lost. You are not a daimyo anymore. You are a bug in a code.”
“Turn it off, my lord,” Kenji said.
“So I thought,” the messenger whispered. “But watch.”
Hideaki’s advisor, an old monk named Kenji, frowned. “Impossible.”
He placed a small, lacquered scroll on the table. On it was a single line of strange script:
He hesitated. Then he pressed Apply. The next morning, a lone ashigaru spearman from the Silver Crane walked toward the Oda vanguard. The Oda general laughed. Then the spearman began to run. Not the sprint of a man, but the relentless glide of a predator. He crossed a river without slowing. Arrows struck him and vanished. Swords shattered against his skin.
